Authors: Karin Fossum
'So we're talking about strangulation?'
'This is where it gets odd, because I can't work out how it happened. My findings are not conclusive, I need more time.'
'I'm not sure I understand you,' Sejer said. 'If he was deprived of oxygen surely it follows that someone deprived him of it? With a hand or a pillow. Or are you saying that he got something stuck in his throat?'
'No, he definitely didn't choke. And I can't make sense of it either,' Snorrason said, 'but I don't think it's what it looks like. I need to make some calls.'
'Who to?'
'Elfrid Løwe among others. I have a theory,' he said. 'I'll be in touch when I can prove it.'
'Have you found what we were hoping for most of all?'
'You're referring to DNA?'
'Yes?'
'Yes, I've found DNA evidence. If you find the perpetrator, we have irrefutable proof here.'
'Good,' Sejer said. 'Anything else?'
'Not at this moment in time. The boy doesn't even have a scratch on him, and they usually do.'
'Will you be able to finish the autopsy report tonight?'
'I'll fax it over later. You're welcome to wait for it.'
Sejer thanked him and hung up. He unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt-sleeve and started scratching. He suffered from psoriasis and there was a red and irritated patch the size of a twenty-kroner coin on his elbow. He began reading the reports submitted so far. At regular intervals, he glanced sideways at the fax machine. Finally the telephone rang. It was Snorrason.
'I've spoken to Elfrid Løwe,' he said. 'Jonas August suffered from asthma.'
'Did he? Is that relevant?'
'The assault triggered a severe attack. And that, as far as I can establish, was what killed him.'
CHAPTER 10
Reinhardt and Kristine Ris's house was attractive and well maintained. It was painted white and had green windowsills and glazed Dutch roof tiles. It was built in 1920 and Reinhardt was fond of referring to it as an architectural pearl. It sat on a hill above the town and from the first floor veranda they could see the river with its many bridges that resembled broad stitches across a cut. Behind the house was a small garden surrounded by a neatly trimmed hedge; in front of the house a double garage and a swing installed by the previous owners. Kristine would sometimes gaze out of the window, pretending that her little girl was playing on it. But there was no little girl. The urge for a child dragged her down like a dead weight in the water.
She looked into the living room. Reinhardt was sitting in front of the computer playing EverQuest. He was completely absorbed by the game, all Kristine saw was his broad, unapproachable back. She tried to open herself to him, open up what was good in him; he had traits she valued highly. But it was an uphill struggle. A sneaking reluctance crept in with increasing frequency and her lack of enthusiasm made her feel guilty, because she had promised to keep herself only unto him until death did them part. She noticed that he seemed restless, visibly tense, he kept looking at his watch, and every now and again he would glance out at the road as if he was expecting someone. Kristine found an old newspaper, put it on the dining table and started polishing a silver candelabra. She rubbed it with a cloth, hard and with practised ease. When she had finished polishing the candelabra, she would light a candle for Jonas August. She was not going to tell Reinhardt, he would not understand anyway, nor did he care much about her innermost thoughts. 'It has to be out in the open,' he would say. 'I can't be doing with guessing what's on people's minds.'
'Irmelin and Kjell are coming over,' he said out of the blue. He turned in the chair and looked at her, clearly anticipating protests.
'They'll be here in half an hour,' he added.
Kristine gave him a shocked look. 'In half an hour? And you're telling me that now?' Her eyes automatically scanned the room for anything that needed to be tidied away.
Reinhardt switched off his computer. 'I invited them over for a drink,' he said.
'But why didn't you tell me?'
He went over to the sofa. He made himself comfortable with the newspaper, spreading it out demonstratively on the coffee table.
'What's wrong with inviting a few friends over for a glass of wine?' he snapped.
'Nothing,' she said, 'but couldn't you have told me earlier? I've got nothing in the house, Reinhardt, nothing at all.'
He shook his head in exasperation. 'There's no need for food,' he said. 'We'll just offer them a glass of wine, that's enough. It's called having a nice time with your friends.'
She did not want to sound petty, and they had invited Kjell and Irmelin over before, but it had always been for dinner. Then she realised what this was really about. Reinhardt was dying to tell them his news, he had something to treat them to, and it was more than likely that he would drone on the whole night about Jonas August. He would bask in the limelight and she would feel ashamed. There was something about the way he was dealing with this which she despised, though whether or not her own approach was superior or nobler she found difficult to tell.
'You could have asked me,' she repeated, hurt. She resumed polishing the silver; she could see her face now in the base of the candelabra.
He rustled his newspaper angrily. 'I don't need your permission to invite a friend round,' he said. 'I live here too, it's my house.'
It's my house. As if he let her live there out of the goodness of his heart. She did not reply, her throat swelled up. She finished the candelabra and got a candle from a kitchen drawer, then she found a match and lit it, inhaling the comforting smell of burnt sulphur. She stood for a while gazing at the restless flame.
'It's flickering,' she said. 'Look.'
Reinhardt looked up. 'Must be a draught somewhere.'
'There's no draught. Nothing is open.'
'Turn on the radio, please,' Reinhardt asked her. 'The news will be on soon. We need to find out if there have been any developments.'
She did as he had asked. A woman was reporting on the body found in Linde Forest.
'He was an only child,' Kristine whispered.
The thought saddened her. It meant that someone was left alone now, robbed of everything.
'A man wearing a blue anorak,' Reinhardt said, 'who was seen leaving in a pale car.' But we gave them so much more information. I mean, about how he was dressed. He was limping too, why didn't she say anything about that?'
Kristine shrugged. 'Well, he wasn't really limping,' she said. 'He just walked in an odd way. Perhaps we were mistaken, perhaps we can't rely on our memories. Besides,' she added, 'we disagreed about several things.'
'No,' he said firmly. 'We did not disagree and we are not mistaken. Nothing wrong up here,' he added, tapping his temple with his finger. He returned to his newspaper; that, too, was crammed with stories about Jonas August. Kristine let her head sink back against the headrest of her armchair, folded her hands in her lap and tried to relax. It was quiet until the doorbell rang in the hall. Reinhardt shot up from the sofa, Kristine remained in the armchair watching the flickering candle.
The guests entered the living room, smiling. Irmelin held a potted plant in her hands, a small begonia. Reinhardt disappeared into the basement and returned with a three-litre box of Chablis.
'Get the glasses, Kristine, would you?' he called out. Their guests sat down at the table, Irmelin, dark and slender, Kjell, sturdy with thinning hair. He started talking about his job; he was a chiropractor and the others listened. A teenage girl had thrown up all over his coat because she could not bear the sound of bones cracking. A colleague was involved in some awful case where a woman had been paralysed from the waist down following treatment.
'And what about you?' he said eventually. 'Any news?'
He might as well have shone a spotlight on Reinhardt.
'Well,' Reinhardt said, 'something very dramatic has happened since we last saw you. You've probably heard it on the news.'
'Dramatic?' Kjell was baffled.
'Jonas August Løwe,' Reinhardt explained. 'The boy whose body was found up in Linde Forest.'
Once the case was mentioned all four turned serious and it was a long time before anyone said anything.
'He was found by a couple out walking,' Reinhardt explained. 'A couple who go walking to Lake Linde every Sunday.'
Kjell shook his head in disbelief. 'You don't mean that you were the ones who found him?'
Reinhardt planted his elbows on the table. 'Yes, indeed we were,' he said. 'And we've been questioned.'
'Why did they want to question you?' Kjell asked.
'Because we saw a man up there and he was acting suspiciously, I'm certain of it. We passed him just by the barrier and now the police are looking for him. They say he is a witness, obviously, but that's what they always say. Personally, I thought he looked guilty as sin.'
'Perhaps he was just out for a walk, like you were,' Kjell suggested.
'But hardly anyone ever goes there,' Reinhardt objected. 'Besides, he looked very agitated.'
'So tell us more,' Irmelin begged.
'We had reached the lake,' he said, 'and were on our way back to the car. We were walking through the forest and there he was, lying on his stomach, face down. It wasn't difficult to see what had happened to him, if you know what I mean.'
He paused to let his words sink in and take effect.
'We couldn't believe our eyes,' he said. 'I called 112 and it took them twenty minutes to get up there. Kristine was shaking like a leaf.'
'But the man by the barrier,' Irmelin asked. 'Have you seen him before?'
'Never,' Reinhardt said.
'He was walking in a funny way,' Kristine said. 'I mean, he wasn't limping, but he was dragging one leg. When he walked he had to swing it in front of the other.'
'My guess is he has a false leg,' Reinhardt said. 'If he ends up in court, we'll probably have to give evidence.'
Kjell shook his head in disbelief. 'Well, that's what you'll be hoping for, I know you. For Christ's sake, Reinhardt, all you did was see a man in the forest. Get over yourself.'
'Perhaps we just startled him,' Kristine said. 'We did appear out of nowhere.'
Reinhardt gave a surly grunt. 'You would like to think so, wifey, but the truth will out one day.'
'But had he been strangled or what?' Irmelin asked.
'We don't know,' Kristine whispered.
'Did you try to find a pulse?'
'No,' Reinhardt said. 'There was no need for all that. His skin was turning blue, you know, marbled. I could tell instantly that he was dead.'
'Please can we change the subject?' Kristine pleaded.
Reinhardt looked at her across the table. 'It's actually very important to get these things out into the open,' he said. 'It's important to talk about them to get them out of your system.'
'But you don't want them out of your system.'
Reinhardt tossed his head. 'Listen,' he said sternly, 'I can talk about whatever I like. Do you have a problem with that?'